


Men of the City

by Alexanderthegreatestgay



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Vetinari is a nervous awkward baby who talks like a public meeting, no sybil, not that angsty basically vimes is just super thick oml, shameless self indulgence, they have a "thing", vimes is an idiot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-03 17:23:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4108930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexanderthegreatestgay/pseuds/Alexanderthegreatestgay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vetinari is being politically manuvered to get married, and to Vimes annoyance, seems to be okay with the idea.<br/>sort of like a sequel to my other story which i still havent finished but i still don't know if i'm going to kill anyone off in that one so maybe not. i'm sorry i'm evil and i procrastinate. it makes sense without it as much as anything i write makes sense. I love people yelling at me! do it! help me i am a noob, tell me how to fix my writing style and what is good/bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> How long should i make these chapters? i don't know how to post things i write as a giant scree and i'm not finished yet so i can't just post the whole thing... whatever have a thing

It annoyed Vimes that he couldn't remember anything about the man who came into his office other than that he wore a suit and carried a brief case. He'd actually introduced himself and his name had been forgotten before it left the messenger's lips.  It was like that with all the dark clerks. Commander Vimes was of the private opinion that they were probably recruited for being utterly ordinary in every possible way. However, the message the man brought negated any displeasure his presence had brought.   
"You have an appointment with his lordship at 1:30."  
Vimes hit the small box on his desk that was currently upside down under a heavy sheaf of paperwork. "Gooseberry, time?"  
"If you would use the correct phrase, sir?"  
With a look from the seated man, the small imp that had snapped to attention inside its box. Where other people glared daggers, Sam Vimes could glare the whole armory, and possibly the forge as well if his BLT had been more bread lettuce and tomato than bacon that day. "Tell me the damn time before I rip your bloody arms off." He thundered.  
"That will be an acceptable substitute, I'm sure," said the imp meekly. "It is currently four minutes and thirty two seconds till one of the clock Ankh Morpork time, sir. If you like I could tell you the time in various other times zones such as Klatch, XXXX, quirm, the...."   
The rest of the spiel was rendered inaudible as Vimes threw the creature into his top draw and slammed it shut. When he looked up again, the clerk was gone, but Vimes didn't doubt he was heading back to the palace to tell the Patrician he was on his way. Vimes felt the beginnings of a grin form in his chest, but he was careful not to let it reach his face as he packed up his paperwork and told Cheery he was going out. It was a wonderful day for a stroll to the palace, now that the wizards had fixed that little affair with the rain of exploding chickens, and the cobbles felt crisp under his boot heels. Crisp with what exactly he wasn't sure, possibly chicken gizzards, but it was best not to dwell on these things in a city like Ankhmorpork. Above all, what was putting him in this rare good mood was that Vetinari was back. The Patrician of Ankhmorpork of course had a myriad of diplomatic affairs that he had to deal with, but normally Vetinari found ways to make very rarely actually going in person work in his favour. He loved the city in his own bizarre way. But he had had to leave this time, which made Vimes think that it was probably far more important than the simple conference Vetinari had implied to him. However it had been three weeks since he had last seen the inside of the stark oblong office or been on the receiving end of one of the Patrician's infamous eyebrow raises, and he couldn't quite muster his usual irritability.   
He fiddled restlessly the whole time he was kept waiting in a way that had less to do with the unnervingly out of time ticking of the clock than usual.   
He saluted upon entrance and bit down a strange feeling of joy at the sight of the familiar patch of wall slightly above and to the right of the seated man's head.  
The man in question was bent over a mountain of paperwork, and did not acknowledge the commander's presence, but nonetheless Vimes drank in the sight of him in his peripheral vision greedily. A minute dragged by companionably before Vetinari put down his quill, and gestured to his secretary.   
"Drumknott, the Commander and I will be taking a walk about the grounds. Please make sure the gardeners have chained up all the statues before we proceed."   
Vimes mentally raised an eyebrow. They were leaving the office? Perhaps Vetinari really had missed him too.   
"I have something to discuss with you, Commander," was the only explanation provided by the Patrician.


	2. Chapter 2

The two men walked in silence for a long while, and as Vimes began to notice that Vetinari was leading them away from all the most deadly sections of the gardens, apprehension filled him to his patched boot heels at the impending ultimatum Vetinari doubtless had prepared.

The Patrician was rather fond of the palace gardens, which had all been designed by AnkhMorpork's most infamous architect, B. S. Johnson, who was, to say the least, monumentally challenged. It was possibly something to do with the Patrician's sadistic streak that he hadn't had even the most perilous of of Johnson's features (such as the deranged automated statues) demolished, but it could certainly be said that it was one of a kind job experience for the gardens -and any potential assassins as well for that matter. It was not until they reached the infamous Bloody Stupid Johnson "downtain"* that the subject was broached.

"The role of marriage in diplomatic relations is long established," said Lord Vetinari, staring across the wide expanse of waterlogged ground.

"As a head of state with no official spouse, there is a considerable degree of pressure for me to marry for political alliance."

Sam felt his heart seize in his chest and plummet toward his boots like a bird shot in the wing at Vetinari's words. _Lady Margolotta..._  


The city was a broad grey/brown plateau on the horizon of the muddy green swamp. It looked nothing so much like something a troll might throw up after having too much sulfur in his drink.

He, like everyone else in the city, had heard the rumours of their romantic involvement. And it was certainly true that she was beautiful, though Vimes didn't go in for the vampire type himself, and that she and Vetinari played games of chess and of the mind more intricate than anything Vimes could understand, and that she could be so much more for Vetinari than he could ever be. But Vimes was a stubborn bastard and he had refused to give up that easily. Besides, there were also rumors that the Patrician himself was a vampire and Vimes was pretty sure that one wasn't true.*  -Though who knew now they were getting _married_. Maybe he'd let her turn him and they'd batwing off to Überwald and live happily ever after in some evil tyrant castle together.

Commander Vimes pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to listen to Vetinari talking about the importance of political integrity and the various power plays that were happening across the disc at the moment. He knew he was being unfair. The Patrician would never leave his city. _But he's leaving you_ , said a little voice bitterly. It felt like he'd been kicked in the gut by a carthorse. Did Vetinari care so little for, for whatever they were, that he would throw it away just because "AnkhMorpork is in a position of relative economic and political stability and instead of displaying reliance on another country it would be best for our interests to be displaying the people's support for their Patrician, to-" _What?_  


Vimes whipped his head round to look at Vetinari who, still with the same bland expression, was explaining that, effectively, he was sticking it to them in that regard, but still thought getting married was a good idea. Sam was beginning to really itch for a drink. He felt around in his pocket until his fingers found the cool angular surface of the black cigar case Vetinari had given him last Hogswatch. It's lid was carved in the shape of a crest. Not the Duke of Ankh's, or the Patrician's own, but that of the Watch. And where the motto was inscribed below, the carver had even left out the letters which had fallen off the old watch house, so that those immortal words read: " _fabricati diem, pvnc_ ", though doubtless Vetinari knew what it had originally said. He flicked the lid, still inside his pocket, and traced the numbers on the base of the box between the cigars with his calloused fingers. It was his badge number and name, with out any of the stupid titles Vetinari was so fond of. It was as close to an 'I love you' as a man like Havelock Vetinari could get, and he had been as touched as a man like Samuel Vimes could be. Or so he thought.

*So named because his plans had featured the spigot the wrong way round, causing the fountain to thunder its water directly into the ground; so in stead of an artistic water feature, you got a semi submerged carved marble font and a 10 foot deep swamp all around it  

**Vimes tended to have an allergic reaction whenever vampires were around.***

 

***The kind that involved outbreaks of wooden stakes and involuntary impaling motions


	3. Chapter 3

 

"I feel that demonstrating the other diplomats my esteem for their considerations by entering into an official union would be wise at this time, but not so wise that I would not entirely forgo the idea if the person in question did not, in full understanding and readiness, consent to entering to such an arrangement with me." 

Vimes mentally went over what Vetinari had said, attempting to decipher his meaning under the layers of public meeting broom up his backside. He was going to marry some random broad to please a bunch of foreigners, and here he was worrying how the girl would feel about it? She'd feel damn lucky to be marrying the Patrician of bloody Ankhmorpork. And yet, here he was telling all this to Vimes' face, with no thought to the _hatpins_ he was shoving into Vimes' chest.  
It was at this point that Vetinari turned his glacial eyes onto the man beside him. Vimes met his beautiful gaze for only a moment, before the ache of those familiar eyes was too much for him and he ducked his head, scrabbling for a cigar with fingers that shook with what he refused to believe was anything but anger.  
"What are your thoughts on the matter, Sir Samuel?" Asked the ex assassin, and Vimes heard his name ring in his ears like a death knell.

Vetinari's manner was entirely businesslike, but as the watchman looked up from under his helmet, a Pantwell gripped in his teeth, he thought that deep in his ever steely eyes, there was something like nervousness... and something a little softer as well. As Vimes patted himself down in search of matches, a horrible twining thing was growing in his chest. Vetinari cared about the answer to this question. He wanted Vimes to say it was okay.

  * Vimes knew that Vetinari had been his own version of happy in bachelorhood for a long time, with only his dog for company.
  * Vimes knew that he must truly want to do this, for a man as clever as he didn't let himself get backed into a corner unless it was to his decisive advantage.
  * Vimes knew that Vetinari's mind was already made up, and that his plan was probably already in implementation, regardless of what Vimes said next.
  * Vimes knew that whatever they had had in their strange together, he was a kid from Cockbill Street and Vetinari was _Lord_ Vetinari.
  * Vimes knew that with all his hard earned street smarts he could never come close to Vetinari's genius with the human mind.
  * Vimes knew that he was a cynical alcoholic and ticked off every politically important person that he met.
  * Vimes knew that he was not the kind of man that could stand beside the Patrician of Ankhmorpork and go to high teas and dance in gilded armour and be a "Consort".
  * Vimes knew that all that he could give was not all that Vetinari deserved.



He should be touched that Vetinari had even asked his opinion, as a sign of respect, on a matter of state outside his duties as commander of the watch. That was what he was, he reminded himself, still not meeting the Patrician's gaze. The Commander of the Watch. A drunkard in charge of outcasts. What right did he have to speak on the ruler of his city's personal life? _Up until now, you **were** his personal life,_  a part of him said. He struck a match, turning away from the Patrician, as though shielding it from the wind, and stared into the flame to burn away the memory...

The memory of Vetinari lifting Samuel Vimes' drunken head in his thin pale hands,  taking him back to the watch house -not the palace- in a beat up cab -not the fine black carriage- and prying the empty bottle from his dirt and blood streaked hands, and replacing it with something cool and metallic that, Vimes realised when he woke from his stupor, was his badge. 

But the fire merely danced, remote and cruel, and the memories beat through Sam's bronze breast plate and forced themselves upon him. 

The day that he had kissed Vetinari in the oblong office, all fury and frustration.  
The gentle touches sometimes given to him by the Patrician, both a threat and promise.  
The times when he had stretched his beat to the glass palace just to see the light from the office window...

And the rarer times when Vetinari had been there waiting for him, and they patrolled companionably around the city that belonged to both of them in different ways. 

The silent invitation into the silk sheets of Vetinari's bed, filled with ecstasy and elegance.

The playful verbal sparring of their appointments, and the challenge of their clashing personalities.

The silent words that had floated between them, warm and comforting and heartfelt.

Vimes inhaled smoke into his hollow chest bitterly, extinguishing the match with a flick of his wrist. The words he had _thought_ were there.  
And yet anger was scorching at the slimy thorny vine that was curling deep in the pit of his stomach. He was damned if he would roll over so easily like a, a _little dog_.

A memory of one of Vetinari's rare non-sardonic smiles flickered before him for a moment, and he turned, jaw set, to face the other man.


End file.
